Kitchen Raiding
by A Terrible Person
Summary: Set after "The End". Those lost at sea were rescued and recruited, but some just can't find their place. Might as well search for it, sleep deprived or no. Ferndora if you turn your head to the side and squint. R&R, please.


**Not much to say, really. Just that it's my first official fic that has not been posted anonymously, so be kind in your critiques, but constructive.**

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Isadora was bored. Not just "Eh, I could find something to do" bored, but "Everything seems like you're watching paint dry" bored. It more or less heightened by the fact that she felt that she should be doing something. Everyone else was fiddling with wires, reading books and maps, cooking strange and exotic foods, all at 2:30 at night. Or was it 2:20. She didn't know, and really didn't care anymore, she was too restless to sleep. But every time she asked if someone needed help, they'd murmur what sounded like some form of "No" and she'd walk off, disappointed. She really didn't like working at the VFD base sometimes.

But dangit, she was gonna find some way to help if it was the last thing she did. And by the increasing lack of sleep, it probably would be.

Then she came across her favorite hook-handed man, grumbling curse words at a coffee machine in the mini-kitchen.

"Good morning Fernald!" Isadora said cheerfully.

Fernald took a quick glance at her. His overcoat probably hadn't been washed in weeks, the white shirt under that had unusual stains on it, his brown pinstriped pants had a rip in the knee, his shoes were worn, his brown hair was scraggly, his eyes had bags under them… In short, he looked perfectly normal, or at least as normal as Fernald got.

"It's not light outside yet," he growled in response.

"It's past midnight, therefore, it has been Thursday for…" Isadora glanced at a clock above the fridge. "Two hours and forty seven minutes."

He groaned. "Why are you still up?"

"I just feel like I should be doing something." She replied, swaying on her heels.

He turned to face her. She wore her favorite black sweater, a pair of grey sweatpants, and a pair of dingy white socks. Her black hair had grown out since when they first met, making it just a bit easier to tell her apart from her brothers. Her so-dark-brown-they-were-almost-black-eyes still had that creepy always-wide-awake quality to them, not helped by the dark circles around them. "Shouldn't you be asleep?" he said.

"Do you need help with anything?" she said, smiling.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"That doesn't answer mine, either."

He sighed. He was going to here all night at this rate. "No, I don't need any help. They said I've been overworking myself with the decoding and all, and that I should rest. I'm just getting something to drink.." he said, forcing himself to be patient. "If this stupid thing will work.." he growled under his breath, turning back to the accursed coffee machine.

"You're drinking coffee before bed? Fernald, I know you're a caffeine addict, but you'll never get to sleep that way." She said, tilting her head to the side. "Or are you the type that doesn't sleeps? Just lie down and rest, do ya?"

He growled. He liked poor little Izzy, really, but sometimes she just _begged _to have a hook through her throat…

"No. I'm thirsty. Now, go to bed."

"There's some milk in the fridge, it'll help you sleep better."

He turned to her again and pointed his hook towards the doorway. "You. Bed. Now."

"I'm. Not. Sleepy."

He gritted his teeth. "Why are you still here?"

"Because," she said in a sing-songy voice. "I like hanging out with you. You're cool, Fernald."

He stopped gritting his teeth and stared at the now-grinning triplet for a few moments. Then he sighed again. "I'll tell you what. I'll make you something warm to drink, then I walk you to your room so you can sleep. Alright?"

"But then I wouldn't be helping you!" she whined.

"Well, you've calmed me down a bit, so you've helped me with my emotions. See?" he replied, trying to sound pleasant.

She stared at him for a moment, smiled, then said "Alright. I'll take some hot cocoa with some cinnamon and a bit of nutmeg, please."

She then took a seat at the stark-white table, watching as Fernald took a cup, a long spoon, and various ingredients from various cupboards. She always thought it was so neat how he could do anything anyone with hands could do, just a bit differently, and bit less gracefully. And before she knew it, she had a cup of hot cocoa in front of her, just the way she liked it. She blew on it, took a sip, and gave a thumbs-up in satisfaction.

"Now will you go to bed?" he said, sounded a bit exasperated.

"You promised to walk me to my room first." She said, stirring her hot cocoa.

"Alright, alright. Room 668, right?" Fernald said, starting to walk towards the door.

"Right." She stood up and followed him, trying not to spill the hot cocoa.

And so they walked, past decoder rooms and inventing rooms and welding rooms and libraries and another, much much larger kitchen where strange and exotic foods were being cooked and a few rooms that were so top secret that only a handful of people knew why they were so guarded in the first place. Then they reached her room, a tiny room with dark blue walls, a small bed with blankets and pillows with various superheroes on them ("Stole 'em from my brother." She told him once), a desk next to that with a little reading lamp and a typewriter, and a bookshelf with ten books scattered on its four selves. She sat the hot cocoa next to the lamp, and suddenly her arms were wrapped around him. "Thanks Fernald. You're the coolest."

He hugged her in reply, trying not to stab her with his hooks. "No problem."

She broke the hug, and stare at him, smiling. "Now, get to bed, alright? We might find something for you to do tomorrow." He said, walking out of her room.

"All right. Good night, Fernald."

"Good night." He said just as she closed the door. Isadora downed her hot cocoa and had the best night's sleep she had gotten in years.

Fernald walked back into the small kitchen and stared at the horrible coffee machine. Then he poured himself a glass of milk, chugged it down, and dragged himself to his room. It'd help him sleep better.

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**Ach mein gott, I **_**finished **_**it? And it's not dreadful? My sister will be proud.**

**Uh. Yeah, anyhow, reviews will be appreciated, flames will be giggled at, etc etc…**


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